


How Many Tropes Can One Story Hold?

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Sickfic, Snowed In, Tropes, one bed, twist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: You want one bedfic?  You want snowed in?  You want sick!fic?  You want drunken confessions?  You want a plot twist?  You got it.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 23
Kudos: 203





	How Many Tropes Can One Story Hold?

He thought he could stay ahead of the storm. At least, that’s what he told his partner when they set out on the drive from Pittsfield to home. What should take five hours, tops, had verged on six and they weren’t even halfway there. Unforeseen road closures and detours had set them back and the winter storm swiftly swooped in to cause chaos on the highways.

Scully had fallen asleep almost out of the gate. She’d been quiet that morning at the police station, yawning frequently and stretching her neck muscles. Mulder assumed she hadn’t slept well, but didn’t ask. 

Visibility had gotten steadily worse throughout the drive. Snow was falling so rapidly the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up and the wind wasn’t helping. Mulder knew he had to stop, but he’d promised Scully he’d have her home for the weekend.

“Where are we?” she murmured, stretching and blinking out of slumber. He glanced over in time to see her wince and run her hand down the front of her throat.

“Not far from Culpeper,” he answered. “It’s been...a challenging drive.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Her voice was raspy. She rubbed her brow.

He shrugged. “Not much you could do about it.” He paused as the steering wheel pulled to the left under his hands and took his foot off the accelerator to avoid fishtailing. “Uh, I think it might be a good idea to find a motel for the night though.”

“You probably should’ve stopped ages ago.”

“I really thought I could get you home.”

She nodded and then winced again and gripped her neck with one hand. He couldn’t take his focus off the road, but he gave her a few concerned glances.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“My throat hurts,” she stated. “Glands are swollen. I was lethargic this morning, muscles aching.” She put the back of her hand up to her forehead and then turned it down and pressed it to her cheek. “I believe I have a fever.”

Mulder risked taking one hand off the steering wheel to reach over and put the flat of his hand against Scully’s forehead. Her eyes closed and she made a soft humming noise. He took his hand back.

“Next place I see, I’ll stop,” he said.

Ten minutes later, approaching white-out conditions, Mulder was able to turn the car off the highway towards a red neon arrow that flashed like a beacon of salvation. The short road was treacherous and dark, but he managed to follow the grooves of snowed-over tire tracks and creep along to a small, clapboard house. He parked alongside a row of pine trees, frosty branches trembling in the wind.

“Is it a bed and breakfast?” Scully asked.

“Stay in here and keep warm,” Mulder said, pulling his gloves on. “I’ll find out what the situation is.”

He took a moment to brace himself, and then he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. Immediately, he was pelted in the face with snow, but the wind was so fierce it felt like sand. He hunched his shoulders and turned the collar of his jacket up as he hustled towards the stairs of a wraparound porch. His loafers were useless and within a few steps, his feet were cold and wet. He stomped the snow away at the door and knocked just below a brass plate that read MANAGER. While he waited for an answer, he tucked his hands under his armpits and hugged his arms against his sides.

The door swung open and a stout, grey-haired lady clamped her hand on Mulder’s forearm and tugged him forward. He stumbled across the threshold and the door slammed shut behind him. The room was small and dimly lit, just a square closed-off space with a countertop and barely enough room to fit two people.

“What in tarnation are you doing out on a night like this?” the lady asked. She stared up at him with her thick, white eyebrows furrowed.

“Hoping for a vacancy,” he answered. “Are you the motel or did we miss it?”

“You found us. Lucky for you, got one cabin left.”

“Cabin?”

“Six of them around back. Can’t see ‘em on account of the trees and the snow.”

“Okay, well we’ll take it.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and my partner.”

The woman squinted at him and crossed her arms. “You all married?”

“Well, we work together.”

“Cuz I don’t rent out to unwed couples. It ain’t decent or respectable.”

“And we are also married,” he quickly said.

“Alright then.” The woman finally stepped away from Mulder and walked back behind the counter. She placed a guestbook on the countertop and slid it towards Mulder. “Sign there, I’ll get you a key. It’ll be $40 for the night, cash or check. I don’t take no American Express.”

“Um.” Mulder took the glove off his right hand and dipped into his breast pocket for his wallet. Luckily, he had cash on him, which he pulled out and slid across the counter.

“You want a receipt?”

“Sure.” He already knew there’d be no way he could expense a single cabin to their last case, but he’d take the receipt as a memento for the unusual place and occasion. He signed the guest book Mr. & Mrs. Mulder, almost chuckling to himself at the strangeness of it.

“That’s for you.” The woman gave Mulder a handwritten receipt and a key on a brown plastic holder shaped like a diamond with the number 4 etched into it. “Pull the car on up a bit and make a left past the lamppost. Number four.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a pull-out couch or rollaway bed available, is there?”

“Why would you need that?”

“Well we’re technically on the job right now and fraternization is...frowned upon.”

“Don’t got one.”

“Okay, no problem. Um, one last question. Is there a...drug store or diner nearby?”

“You mad as a hatter or what?”

“Well, Sc...my wife is feeling a little under the weather. I just wanted to...since I can’t get her home tonight, I thought I’d at least try to find something to make her more comfortable.”

“Aw, you’re a good fella. I tell you what, you all get yourself settled in and I’ll be around in ten minutes to bring you some soup.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”

“Not at all, not at all. Go on then.”

“Thank you…I don’t know your name.”

“Myrtle.”

“Thank you, Myrtle.” 

Bracing himself again, Mulder headed back to the car, keeping his head ducked down against the wind. He was shivering by the time he made it back to the car and welcomed the blast of heat when he got in. His feet were thoroughly soaked, as was the bottom of his pants.

“You want the good news or the bad news?” he asked Scully.

“No room at the inn?”

“One room. One cabin, actually. Whatever that entails.”

“Oh.”

“If that’s not okay, we can try to-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I don’t know. Oh, uh...if anyone asks, we’re married.”

Scully’s left eyebrow inched up into a pointed arc. “Is that the bad news?”

“That was the good news, actually. Myrtle is running a respectable operation and doesn’t rent to the unwed.”

“Seriously? Mulder, that’s archaic, not to mention blatant discrimination. You need to go back and tell her-”

“That we’re not married and to please refund my $40 and we’ll just be on our merry way out into the blizzard?”

Scully put a hand up in surrender and closed her eyes. “Alright,” she said, and reached up to her throat. “Just please don’t tell me you told her we were Rob and Laura Petrie.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder,” he answered, finally starting the car. “Personally, I know you’d probably keep your name if we were married. I was just trying to get a room key in hand with as little explanation as possible.”

“You think I’d keep my name?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, to be honest.”

“Huh.”

Mulder pulled the car forward slowly, searching for the lamppost he was supposed to turn at. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the glow of the light and sure enough, a row of cabins appeared in silhouette straight ahead, all miniature clapboard versions of the house in front. Number four was the only one without a snow-covered lump of a vehicle in front. He pulled up to it carefully and parked as close as he could manage.

“Key,” he said, passing the room key over to Scully. “I’ll grab the bags.”

“As much as I want to get inside, I’m not looking forward to what it’ll take to get there.”

“Count of three?”

“Three,” she answered, opening her door.

Mulder got out of the car and ran to the trunk. He grabbed his duffel bag and Scully’s rolling suitcase and squinted against the wind harsh wind blowing snow into his face as he lugged both to the door. She’d left it cracked for him and he pushed inside, dropping the bags at his feet before kicking it closed.

The cabin was just a small room with a queen-sized bed and faux wood paneling. There was no TV, but there was a squat bookcase against one wall stuffed with an assortment of books, puzzles, and games. Next to that was a wardrobe. Beneath the window was a round table and two folding chairs. Opposite the bed was a stone hearth with a wood burning stove and a basket of wood next to it.

“Think that works?” Mulder asked, nodding to the stove.

“I hope so. I’m not sure that thermostat over there is working.”

“I’ll take a look at it. Which side do you want?”

“Oh. Um. Left?”

“Great.”

They both stood staring at the bed for a few moments. Mulder put his hand down onto the quilted comforter and pressed into the corner of the bed. Thankfully, it was not a boxspring mattress.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Scully asked. “I’d like to...shower, I think.”

“No, go ahead. Uh, Myrtle said she’d be by with some soup soon.”

“She what?”

“I told her my wife was feeling under the weather. She offered.”

“Oh.”

“You want me to take the opportunity to come clean about our marital status?”

“Sure,” she answered, pulling her suitcase across the floor with her to the bathroom. “But, you’ll be the one that has to sleep in the car when she kicks us out.”

As soon as Scully shut herself in the bathroom, Mulder tossed his duffel onto the bed and rifled through it for new socks and a pair of sweats. He needed to get out of his wet shoes and pants as soon as possible. He didn’t even bother to remove his overcoat before toeing off his loafers and peeling his socks off. His feet felt like blocks of ice they were so cold and his toes were red. He’d just unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants when the door to the bathroom opened and Scully popped her head around the corner.

“Mulder do you think...oh uh…sorry, sorry...” Her head disappeared just as quickly as it had popped out.

The only real embarrassment Mulder felt was not that Scully had caught him undressing, but that he looked rather ridiculous in his overcoat, dress shirt, and boxer shorts with his pants around his ankles. He chuckled to himself and sat down to put on fresh socks and sweatpants. After he traded his dress shirt for a tee and sweatshirt, and draped his overcoat, wet pants and socks over the chair under the window, he went and tapped on the bathroom door. He could hear the water running.

“DId you need something?” he asked.

“No, it’s...nevermind.”

“You sure?”

The door opened a crack and Scully eyeballed Mulder through the thin gap of space. “Do you have an extra sweatshirt I can borrow?”

“Just this one,” he answered, plucking the sweatshirt at his chest.

“Okay, nevermind.”

“Wait.” He put his hand on the door to stop her from closing it completely and then he reached back to the collar of his shirt to pull it off.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’ve got a thermal I can wear. You take it.”

The door opened a little wider and Scully reached out for the sweatshirt. She was wrapped in a towel, clutching it closed at her chest. “Thank you,” she said, and then her arm quickly retreated back into the sanctum of the bathroom and the door snicked softly shut. With a smile, Mulder went back to his duffel bag and found his thermal shirt.

He was inspecting the wood burning stove when there was a knock on the door. Myrtle bustled in carrying a cardboard box which she placed on the round table. She wore a heavy, fur coat and a pink shower cap over her hair.

“That green thermos there is chicken soup,” she said. “The red is some special tea.”

“Candles?” Mulder asked, inspecting the contents of the box. There were four candles and candlesticks tucked down .

“Power’s likely to go out if the storm gets any worse. You need help with that stove?” Before waiting for an answer, she pushed past Mulder and set about to filling and lighting the stove while he stood by.

“Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing to the stove and then the box. 

“You need anything you come knock,” she answered, clapping wood dust from her hands and then she poked Mulder in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you go haring off in this nastiness just ‘cause the little Missus makes a sneeze. You look like the type that just might do such foolishness. You’re no good to anyone if you’re getting up to foolishness.”

Mulder put his hands up in surrender and suppressed a grin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Extra blankets are in the wardrobe. You all just stay put and have a restful evenin’.” 

“We will, thank you.”

The heat from the stove warmed the cabin surprisingly quickly. Without a TV, Mulder didn’t have much to do, so he inspected the bookcase and found a book of Virginia ghost stories to read to pass the time. When Scully finally emerged from the bathroom, in flannel pants and his sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, he was propped up against the headboard on the right side of the bed, engrossed in a tale of the haunted Elbow Road and didn’t look up right away.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

He looked up and plucked at his bottom lip to hide his smile. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up, cheeks rosy from the shower, and her hair was pulled into a short pony-tail, even though it wasn’t quite long enough to hold.

“Ghost stories,” he answered and her face scrunched a little. “There’s soup and tea in that box over there. You should get to it while it’s hot.”

“Looks like there’s enough for two, if you’d like to join me.”

Mulder folded the page down in the book he was reading and got off the bed. Scully had the lid of the red thermos off and was pouring soup into the cap. The sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirt kept slipping over her wrists.

“You feeling any better?” he asked.

“The steam from the shower helped,” she answered, sliding the thermos across the table towards Mulder. “But, not really.”

“Here.” He caught her hand before she picked up the cap of soup and rolled the cuffs of the sweatshirt up for her.

“Thanks.”

“What’re the candles for?” Scully asked, opening up the sleeve of crackers.

“Myrtle says the power is unreliable.”

Scully sighed and then blew across the top of her soup. She looked around the small room for a few moments and then turned her gaze to Mulder. “No TV?” she asked.

“Nope. There’s Yahtzee. Or Parcheesi.”

She yawned and rolled her head back and forth. “Or, taking a Tylenol PM and going to bed.”

“Or that.”

“It’s good soup.”

Mulder took a swig of the soup from the thermos and nodded in agreement. They sipped quietly together, taking turns stealing crackers from the open sleeve until they were nearly gone. He’d finished the soup in the thermos, but Scully still had some left when she’d pushed it away.

While Scully cleaned up the makeshift dinner, Mulder peeked outside for any signs the storm might be letting up. It was still coming down swift and steady. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to Scully.

“For what?”

“I promised I’d have you home.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled up at him for a moment and touched his arm. And then her smiled faded and she dropped her eyes. 

“Scully?”

“I’m just glad we’re off the road.”

There was something unsaid that hung in the air, but Mulder didn’t know what it was. He rubbed the back of his head and watched her walk away to poke through her toiletries bag. It prompted him into retrieving his own from his duffel to prepare for bed.

“This is tea?” Scully asked, sniffing at the green thermos while holding two white pills cupped in her hand.

“Special tea, according to Myrtle.”

She sniffed it again and then popped the pills in her mouth and took a drink. She cocked her head a little and took another sip and then coughed. “I uh...I think this might be...spiked.”

“Drugged?” Mulder immediately dropped his toiletry bag on the bed and went over to Scully.

“No. I think there’s rum in this.”

He put his hand over Scully’s and pulled the thermos up towards his nose to give it a sniff. He could smell lemon in the steam that filtered up and tickled his nose. Risking flu germs, he took his own sip and sure enough, the warmth that spread through his chest wasn’t just hot tea.

“Myrtle’s special tea is hot toddy,” he said. 

“And I just washed down a sleeping pill with alcohol.” 

“Good thing you’re not operating heavy machinery any time soon.”

“It is rather soothing though.” She shrugged a little and then took another sip before closing the thermos back up.

“I’m gonna hit the shower.”

“And I’m gonna lay down.”

“Keep my side warm for me? Just kidding.” He winked at her and then retrieved his toiletries bag.

Mulder was in the shower for no more than five minutes when the power went out. The lights flickered as he was soaping his chest and then blinked out. Before the water could turn cold, he hastily finished up and had to blindly towel dry and then feel his way to the door.

The room was dark when he poked his head out of the door with the fire from the stove providing only a dim glow. He could make out the shape of Scully under the quilt on the bed, but it was too shadowed to tell if she was facing him or away. With his towel secured around his waist and tucked in place at his hip, he scurried across the floor to grab a candle from the box.

“Mulder?” Scully asked, propping up on her elbow.

“Power’s out,” he answered, holding fast to his towel while lifting the candlestick in the air.

“Oh.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she answered through a yawn and lay back down. “Yet.”

“Go back to half asleep.” 

Mulder had to get the matchbook that was by the stove to light his candle. He got the flame started and then walked slowly with it across the room so that it wouldn’t blow out. He could see Scully watching him with a drowsy gaze, but she closed her eyes as soon as he caught her. Back in the bathroom, he got back into his pajamas and brushed his teeth.

Quietly, he went back into the main room and added a log to the stove. He took his candle with him to bed and grabbed the book he’d abandoned earlier. With no bedside table to leave the candlestick on he had to hold it with one hand to continue reading. Soon, the low light made him drowsy and he finally had to blow the candle out and lean over to place it on the floor. 

Making great efforts to be quiet and non-obtrusive, he eased himself down and took great pains not to shift more than he had to or pull at the quilt. Beside him, Scully breathed deep and even. The longer he lay still, the more her presence so close seemed to quell his usual nighttime restlessness. Instead of feeling the need to toss and turn and adjust his pillow and kick at the blankets, he found it was easy to just listen to her, feel her nearby, and just be still and silent. Even the storm, which he knew was raging outside, seemed peaceful.

He was jostled awake sometime later by Scully, nudging at him like she was searching for something. The room was dark and cold, the fire mere embers. He turned to sit up, but she made a noise of protest and clutched at his shirt.

“It’s cold,” she murmured, her voice slurred and sleepy. “You’re warm.”

“Let me get the fire started again.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his shirt and he hopped out of bed, cupping his hands to his mouth to blow into them. He bent down to find the candlestick and then shivered and stumbled his way to the table. He found the matches, lit the candle, and made his way to the dying fire. He grabbed a few logs, fed them into the stove, and used a gold poker to stoke the embers. 

  
When he was sure the logs were well-positioned, he shuffled towards the wardrobe to grab the extra blanket. It was soft and heavy and he kicked himself for not thinking of pulling it out before they went to bed. He had to put the candle back on the table to be able to drape it over the bed. Scully pulled it up further and adjusted it to her liking.

After blowing out the candle again and before getting back into bed, Mulder took a look out the window.

“I think the storm’s stopped,” he whispered, sliding into the sheets and the heavy warmth the extra blanket brought. 

Scully hummed. She cuddled up against his side and put her head on his chest before he’d even settled. He covered her hand at his chest and made sure the quilt covered the both of them.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” she mumbled, even as she burrowed closer.

“We’ve shared our share of colds. All part and parcel of a partnership.”

She made a gravelly noise in the back of her throat that he couldn’t interpret. He shifted to find a more comfortable position and was able to bring his arm around her. The fire began to spark and crackle as it picked up again. The heat slowly ate away at the chill.

“This is nice,” she mumbled. “You smell nice.”

“I do?”

“Mm. Always.”

He smiled up at the dark ceiling and rubbed her arm. She shifted and her leg moved up over his thigh. His heart skipped a beat. She squeezed him softly like she was hugging a teddy bear, and then she sighed.

“This is nice,” she said again.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I knew it would be.”

He chuckled lightly. “Something you’ve thought about, Scully? Getting caught up in a snowstorm? Snuggling for warmth?”

“Mmhm. Definitely.” She sighed again and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

He went still and his smile faded. He’d thought she might be joking in the placating way she sometimes did when he said something outlandish. But, it sounded truthful, like she was just sleepy and relaxed enough to be unabashedly honest.

“Really?” he asked, his voice growing deeper and serious.

“Mm.”

He would admit, it was something he’d been thinking a lot about too, metaphorically. He’d been questioning the possibilities of another life for himself; a life that was more than just a quest for the truth. He’d come to realize that the more effort he put into taking time outside of work, the happier he felt. And part of that happiness, he could attribute to his partner. He was happier, always, when he was with her. When he’d kissed her on New Year’s Eve a few weeks ago, he’d been testing the waters to see if she might reciprocate a fraction of what he felt for her. She’d seemed open to something more when she’d smiled at him, but he’d chickened out at the last second and instead of asking if she could see the potential for something more, he’d clammed up, and neither of them had mentioned it since.

But, maybe, just maybe, she did see the potential. He’d like to think it was more than just sleepy, medicated ramblings.

“Scully?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. She was asleep again, warm and slack against his side. He petted her hand a few times and then craned his neck to kiss the top of her head.

The next time he woke, the fire had died down again and Scully was still asleep against him. Morning light filtered in through the closed drapes at the window. As much as Mulder wanted to get up and see what conditions were outside, he didn’t want to disturb the warmth and serenity he’d found in that bed. It had to end sometime though. At least he’d been able to soak up the contentment he was feeling for the next ten minutes before she stretched and stirred.

Quite suddenly, Scully pushed herself up from Mulder’s chest, her eyes wide with shock. Her hair was mussed, sticking to her cheek on one side and bunched wildly on the other. He chuckled and reached up to brush the hair away from her face and tuck it back over her ear.

“Morning,” he said. Though he was able to keep his voice steady and a cool appearance, deep down he was worried she’d retreat into her shell if she was feeling too embarrassed and awkward.

“Um…” She shook her head and blinked rapidly. “I, um…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh. Better? Better, thanks.”

“Good. Sleep well?” He grinned and couldn’t help but tease her just a little.

Her cheeks darkened and she struggled with the blankets to sit up. “Sorry if…”

“You can use me as a pillow anytime, Scully.”

She looked back at him and then lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Should we see what the damage is outside?”

“I’d almost forgotten about it.”

Mulder pushed the covers away and got out of bed. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. He rubbed his arms on his way to the window and then pulled a corner of the drapes back to get a glimpse of the outside world.

“Wow,” he said.

“What?” Scully got out of bed and padded over to him. He pulled one side of the drapes open so she could see. The sky was blue and the sun was shining. Melting snow dripped from the trees and the car was clear. Except for the slush that covered the ground, it was almost like there’d never been a storm.

“Guess we can head out anytime,” he said. “You want to stop for breakfast on the way?”

“You buying?”

“I think I gave all my cash to Myrtle for the room. Spot me?” He held his hand out to her and she gave it a soft slap.

“I call dibs in the bathroom.”

“Go ahead.”

While Scully got ready for the day, Mulder cleaned up the cabin a little. He folded the extra blanket and put it back in the wardrobe. He put the two thermoses and candles back in the box to take to Myrtle and he folded his dry pants and socks into his duffel. He was just about ready to get dressed for the day himself when Scully finished in the bathroom and they switched places. She had on a pair of dark pants and a blue sweater, what he came to realize over the years was her version of casual weekend attire.

In the bathroom, Mulder ran a hand over his face and decided he could get away with not shaving for the morning. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and ran a wet comb through his hair to tame his bedhead a little. He changed into jeans, a t-shirt and a v-neck and was done. When he came out, the sweatshirt he’d loaned to Scully the night before was neatly folded and placed on top of his duffel bag on the bed.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his pjs onto the bed and taking up the sweatshirt. He brought it around to where Scully was packing up her suitcase and held it out to her. “Keep it. For emergencies.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and then took the sweatshirt from him. She held it between both hands and looked up at him and nodded once. He smiled and turned back to pack his bag. He caught her surreptitiously bringing the collar of the sweatshirt to her nose and breathing deep before she packed it away. Aha, he thought. It’s the aftershave. He almost went back to the bathroom to slap some on, but he thought that might be a little too obvious.

“I want to bring that box back to Myrtle before we go,” he said. “Thank her for last night.”

“I’ll go with you. I’d like to meet her.”

When they went outside, one of the first things Mulder noticed was that all the cars were gone and the other cabins seemed abandoned. He didn’t say anything as they carefully trudged across the slushy path from the cabins to the main house, but he found it unusual. Perhaps, he thought, they were all stranded travelers who’d just happened to get up and out earlier than he and Scully did.

Scully knocked on the door since Mulder had his arms full of the box. No one answered. She knocked again and then tried the handle, but it was locked.

“You think everything’s alright?” Scully asked.

“She seemed like she might be the type to get up and plow the roads herself if no one else did.”

“Okay.”

They trudged back to the cabin and left the box and the key on the table. At the last minute, Mulder grabbed the book of ghost stories he’d been reading to keep for another time. When they got in the car, Scully raised her brow at Mulder when he went to put it in the glove compartment and she took it out of his hands.

“You’re stealing a book?” she asked.

“Did you see how many books were on that shelf? No one will miss it.”

Scully snorted softly and thumbed through it while Mulder drove slowly through the slush and tree-lined road back to the highway. Fortunately, the plows and the sanders had been by overnight and the roads were clear. They hadn’t driven for more than ten miles before Scully suddenly started fiddling with the book like she was about to tear the pages out.

“What’re you doing?” Mulder asked.

“Mulder, did you...how far into this book did you get?”

“Wherever the page was folded. The Lightfoot mansion haunting, I think.”

“And you didn’t read past that?”

“No, why?”

“There’s a chapter in here...let me read it. ‘Though poltergeists and spirits with unfinished business seem to dominate in the realm of ghost stories, it should be noted that not all apparitions are in anguish or malevolent. In some cases, like that of Myrtle the Friendly Ghost, most people walk away never having realized something was amiss or that they’d met a ghost at all.’”

“Myrtle the Friendly Ghost?”

“The full title of the chapter is Myrtle the Friendly Ghost Will Change Your Life. ‘‘No one knows who the benevolent woman was in life, but those that meet her in death recall a gregarious, middle-aged lady with grey hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. Somewhere off US-15 outside of Brandy Station, Myrtle has been welcoming lost travelers to her cabin-in-the-woods since the early 1940’s.’”

“Are you making this up?”

“‘Though no one knows for sure who the friendly innkeeper was in life, if you find yourself on the deserted highway on a cold, dark night, you just might find out who she is in the afterlife.’”

Mulder slowed the car as they rolled into Brandy Station and stopped next to a red brick building before a railroad crossing. “Let me see this.”

Scully passed him the book and he found the place she’d left off and continued. “‘Out of gas? Took a wrong turn out of Culpeper? Need shelter from a storm? Suddenly, shelter appears out of nowhere and Myrtle is there to welcome you. Descriptions have varied over the years, but those who’ve encountered Miss Myrtle have agreed that they’d gotten themselves into a roadside pickle and if it weren’t for the older lady, they don’t know how they’d have fared.’”

“That’s rather vague,” Scully said.

“‘For half a century, tales have been told of the of this generous woman and her charming cabins in the woods. The most significant detail of note is that every stranded traveler that’s shared their story have emphatically referred to the experience as life-changing in some way.”

“Life-changing?”

“We have to go back.”

“Mulder…”

“Here,” he gave Scully the book back and put the car back into drive to make a u-turn. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops, Scully. We have a chance to interview a ghost.”

“Mulder, that’s ridiculous.”

“All we need to do is just get back to the cabin and look for evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Scully tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Whatever we find or don’t find,” he said, “I’ll buy you one of everything on the menu when we stop for breakfast.”

“Except I’ll be the one paying.”

Mulder peered anxiously out his window they longer they drove, but all he could see was trees. He knew they’d gone to far when he hit a sign directing him to an intersecting highway and he had to make another u-turn. They came down the highway again, slower this time, but he couldn’t locate the turnout they’d come from not more than half an hour before.

“It’s gone,” he said. “Scully, there’s not even a road here.”

“There has to be. We just missed it.”

“How can we find a turnout in a blizzard, but miss one on a clear, sunny day?”

“I don’t know, but we obviously made that turn last night.”

“Unless…”

“Don’t say it,” she protested, holding her hand up to him like a stop sign. “Don’t even think it.”

“Scully, we met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost!”

“First of all, you were the only one that even talked to her. Second of all, this is just some silly story in a book.”

“Well, that story had to come from somewhere.”

“Mulder, a ghost didn’t put us up in a cabin overnight. A ghost didn’t bring us soup and crackers and a hot toddy. A ghost didn’t give us candles.”

“That ghost also took my money.”

“And how has that changed your life?”

Mulder pulled the car over and put it in park. He got out, leaving his door open, and as he crossed the front of the car, Scully opened her door and stepped out too. The alarm signaling the keys were in the ignition pinged loudly behind her.

“What’re you?” she said, and he stifled the rest of her question with a kiss.

This one wasn’t like New Year’s. He pressed her against the rear passenger door, snaked one arm around her hips and buried his free hand in her hair and kissed her like it might be the last time he’d ever kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered softly.

When they broke apart, Scully took hold of the lapels of his jacket and he moved both hands to her face. She blinked up at him, rubbing her lips together.

“It was the best night of my life,” he said. “And not because I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost.”

She cleared her throat a little and swallowed. “Allegedly.”

He grinned at her and gave her another peck on the lips before he stepped back. She let go of his jacket and softly patted his chest. 

“I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost,” he said.

Scully rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should’ve gotten her autograph”

“Wait a minute.” He perked up a little and reached into his breast pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled the billfold open. “Look at that,” he said, pulling out two crisp $20 bills instead of the handwritten receipt he’d expected to find. 

She stared at the money for a few moments and then she plucked it out of his hand, folded it, and put it in her pocket. He cocked his head at her and she slid back into the car. “You’re buying breakfast,” she said. 

“Think of all the money we’d save if we could stay in a ghost hotel every time we’re out of town.”

“Run that one by Skinner,” she answered, pulling her door shut.

He chuckled and stowed his wallet before shoving his hands in his pockets and headed back to his door. He started humming the theme to Casper the Friendly Ghost, and then singing softly. “Myrtle the friendly ghost, the most life-changingest ghost there ever was.”

The End

  
  



End file.
